"That I may not do," said Riczi; and since a chronicler that would
tempt fortune should never stretch the fabric of his wares too thin
(unlike Sir Hengist), I merely tell you these two dwelt together at
Montbrison for a decade: and the Vicomte swore at his nephew and
predicted this or that disastrous destination as often as Antoine
declined to marry the latest of his uncle's candidates,--in whom the
Vicomte was of an astonishing fertility.
In the year of grace 1401 came the belated news that Duke Jehan had
closed his final day. "You will be leaving me!" the Vicomte growled;
"now, in my decrepitude, you will be leaving me! It is abominable, and
I shall in all likelihood disinherit you this very night."
"Yet it is necessary," Riczi answered; and, filled with no unhallowed
joy, he rode for Vannes, in Brittany, where the Duchess-Regent held
her court. Dame Jehane had within that fortnight put aside her
mourning. She sat beneath a green canopy, gold-fringed and powdered
with many golden stars, when Riczi came again to her, and the rising
saps of spring were exercising their august and formidable influence.
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